


Cafe au Lait

by mrasaki



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, M/M, Mostly STXI-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrasaki/pseuds/mrasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock’s office was always redolent of coffee, an incongruity that struck Leonard every Friday when he visited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cafe au Lait

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt 'First Date.'
> 
> Originally written for Ship Wars 2010 (an actual fanfic writing challenge, not a wank as you might think …though it certainly ended that way), but I'm too lazy to go searching out the original post.
> 
> Also, the word limit for the challenge was 1k. If you can't tell by my entire body of work so far, THAT by far was the biggest challenge and the story still went over wordcount! This hasn't been edited much, so forgive any awkward prose.

Spock’s office was always redolent of coffee, an incongruity that struck Leonard every Friday when he visited.

Leonard would’ve thought Vulcans preferred something remote and spicy; patchtouli, perhaps, or sandalwood. Coffee was too human a scent for an office draped in exotic earth-toned Ba’ku kolibri silks and decorated with sculpted metals not found on Earth. He wondered at it as he coaxed his tongue around the harsh glottals of Klingon and the sibilants of Bajoran, punctuated liberally with very Standard obscenities. 

Jim would probably have tutored him, but first Jim’s face would’ve crinkled into a disbelieving grin, teasing, “You’re fucking with me, right?” and Leonard might have had to punch his pretty face in. 

By contrast, Spock was all propriety and unsaid words, a cool touch soothing Leonard’s dismay at nearly failing the survey course, never questioning why Leonard hadn’t simply gone to his primary instructor for help. 

Spock was always patient as Leonard vainly attempted proper intonation and tried to remember the correct conjugations. Leonard was a doctor, not a linguist, and he’d never been as bad at something as he apparently was at learning even basic languages. After he'd slammed himself against the back of his seat in frustration for the fifth time and furiously raked a hand through his rumpled hair, Spock asked quietly, “Would you like some coffee? I find it aids concentration.” A single finger tapped nervously on the desk, then stilled as Leonard focused on him. “You drink coffee?” Leonard asked, surprised.

“I find the taste pleasant.” A considering frown, then an almost-question, as if it hadn’t occurred to him before: “You do not.” He sounded almost disappointed.

“I never said that,” Leonard said, standing. “I could use a coffee break.” 

There was an almost deserted student coffee-shop in the quad. Spock pushed a paper cup into Leonard’s hand just as he realized Spock had paid for both their coffees. “Hey,” he protested. Spock shrugged dismissively without looking up, pouring an unhealthy amount of sugar and cream into his own cup. “It is—as the colloquialism goes—my treat.” 

He took a sip then, his eyes slitting shut at the taste. It was a surprisingly touching expression, enjoyment as incongruous on his pale features as the coffee cup in his hand. 

Leonard became suddenly aware of the liquid heating his palm, of the sudden flush burning across his cheeks. He dragged his eyes away from Spock’s face. “I’m buying next time,” he muttered savagely into his cup to cover his embarrassment, and promptly burned his tongue.

*

His sessions with Spock progressed like the beat of a metronome, steeped in the bitterly rich scent and taste of coffee in lowering afternoon light.

It was a mutual pleasure to spend evenings together after the lesson, sipping coffee and discussing the latest articles in the scientific journals. It wasn’t as if Leonard went out on Fridays; he studied unless Jim came by and even then sometimes he didn't open the door. He’d done all that—booze, chasing girls, hangovers—and it was a very well-scratched itch. 

And, Leonard had to admit, Spock made a mean cup of joe.

Leonard’s grades were improving, though not being top of the class rankled. But at least he was passing, and he was grateful to Spock for undertaking what was probably an extravagantly frustrating task. In return Leonard gave less grief in Spock's class that he was also taking, less argument and sarcasm, but it wasn't nearly enough for the salvage Spock was making of Leonard’s GPA.

Making food for one’s teacher was hokey, perhaps, and Leonard had little idea how plomeek soup was supposed to taste, but he had to do _something_ in return. When he placed the thermos on Spock’s desk, Spock looked up at him in unguarded surprise.

“Uh,” Leonard said. “Thanks. For—you know. Helping me.”

Spock’s response was calmly precise. “Recompense is unnecessary. Although I find satisfaction in it, your improvement has been solely due to your own efforts, not mine.”

This irritated Leonard to the core. “Just say you’re welcome and take it,” he snarled, and slapped a package of gourmet coffee down next to the thermos.

How it went from Leonard glaring at him threateningly and Spock considering him as if he were an interestingly complicated equation, to Leonard’s hands clutching that thick, black hair, nudging their lips together, he had no idea.

Spock’s skin and breath smelled of vanilla coffee, and Leonard opened his mouth and breathed him in. There was a responding flicker of tongue sliding against his and a shaky breath over his lips before Spock pushed him away, hands hot and inexorable against his shoulders.

Leonard jerked back, his mind clearing at the expression on Spock’s face, something like sorrow and regret in his softened eyes. His hair was disheveled. “Shit,” Leonard mumbled. Starfleet regs came belatedly to mind, regs about important things like fraternization that would tarnish Spock’s career, and probably even Leonard’s. 

Spock nodded, the knowledge hanging heavy in the air between them. He was breathing hard.

Leonard slammed the door on the way out.

*

It was near the end of term anyway, so the cessation of their lessons made little difference. Leonard sat further back in class now, Spock’s ramrod-straight figure tiny at the bottom of the auditorium. They didn't speak. 

When Jim pushed up to him after the hearing, sizzling with frustration and anger and hissed, “Who is that guy?”, Leonard lied.

During the Narada incident Leonard mostly stayed in Medical, treating crew-members, consoling survivors in broken Vulcan, inventorying supplies. But there was surprised recognition when he’d followed Jim onto the bridge, then a measured intensity in Spock’s dark eyes later as they argued. 

It was strange being equals. Spock kept glancing down at Leonard’s borrowed uniform and insignia, then back up to Leonard’s face as if to confirm what he saw. His hand brushed Leonard’s—once, twice. Not an accident.

Later, when the Enterprise was fully commissioned and launched, Leonard found a large package of premium french roast on his desk with a note: _I brought my coffee-maker._


End file.
